


All the Little Things

by wendyindahouse



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Romance, schmoopy ending, vaguely angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 03:44:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendyindahouse/pseuds/wendyindahouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What are you supposed to get for a guy who doesn’t have a materialistic bone in his body, who doesn’t really want things, and who already has pretty much everything he needs?  Jensen thinks he could maybe get something silly, picking up on the many inside jokes they have, but none of it seems like enough.  What he feels for Misha is far from silly and he wants to let Misha know that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt on tumblr:
> 
> Jensen struggles to find the perfect holiday gift for Misha, because Misha seems to have everything. Finally he decides to go for something from the heart, even if it pushes him a bit out of his comfort zone. He expects Misha to like it and maybe poke a little fun at him, but instead Misha is really very touched.
> 
> ([my tumblr](http://poorbeautifuldean.tumblr.com))
> 
> For [ earth_dragon](http://archiveofourown.org/works/search?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bquery%5D=earth_dragon)
> 
> (and I have changed the title because I really couldn't stand the other one!)

Jensen sighs, running his fingers through his hair yet again as he pushes open the door and leaves the fifteenth shop he’s visited in the last hour, empty-handed yet again.  Time is rapidly running out, and he still can’t find the right gift for Misha.  What are you supposed to get for a guy who doesn’t have a materialistic bone in his body, who doesn’t really want _things_ , and who already has pretty much everything he needs?  Jensen had thought he could maybe get something silly, picking up on the many inside jokes they have, but none of it seemed like enough.  What he feels for Misha is far from silly and he wants to let Misha know that. 

As he passes a small thrift store, he catches sight of a little wooden box in the corner of the window.  It’s cheap-looking, and definitely nothing special, but the cheesy, faded image of the Coliseum in Rome printed on the lid gives him an idea.  He hesitates with his hand on the door, chewing on his lower lip as he debates with himself.  On the one hand, he’s fairly sure Misha will love the gift and will completely understand the gesture.  On the other, he’s already embarrassed at just the thought of it, at the thought of giving a gift that reveals something so personal.  A glance at his watch decides it.  He only has a couple of hours left before he’s supposed to see Misha and he’s out of time.  He takes a deep breath and pushes into the store.

***

Jensen feels out-of-sorts for the entire evening.  Cast and crew members are well and truly in the holiday spirit, laughter fuelled by mulled wine echoing round the room as they share stories and just enjoy each other’s company.  Except Jensen.  His skin feels tight, his hands are clammy, and his breath catches every time he so much as looks at Misha.  It doesn’t help that he looks hotter than ever this evening, wearing skin-tight jeans with a shirt, waistcoat and a blue silk tie that reflects in his eyes, making them even more ridiculously blue than usual.  Jensen indulges himself in the thought that Misha dressed that way because he knows Jensen likes it.  When Misha catches his eye across the room and winks at him, he’s convinced of it and he can’t help the smirk that lifts the corner of his mouth, before his nervousness hits him again and he just wishes everyone else would leave already.  As if Misha senses this, he starts to gently cajole people into leaving, claiming that he has an early start in the morning.  The majority decide to continue the party at a bar round the corner, and Jared takes one look at Jensen’s face before hurriedly deciding to go with them.  Jensen makes his excuses to the group, though none of them actually expected him to join them, and then in a whirl of hugs, kisses and shouted farewells, they’re gone, and there’s just the two of them left.

At the sound of Misha gently clearing his throat, Jensen looks up from the bottle of beer he’s been nursing for the last half hour.  He swallows hard as he sees those intense blue eyes staring at him, assessing, Misha’s brow slightly creased in confusion. 

“Care to tell me now what’s been bothering you all night, Jen?” 

Jensen shifts his gaze away from Misha’s and back to the bottle.  “I uh… well, you know, I’m just tired I guess.  Not really in the party mood”.  He senses Misha doesn’t believe him; he certainly didn’t sound convincing and he doesn’t even really know himself why he’s so anxious.  He steels himself to look up and meet Misha's eyes anyway and when he does, Misha is a lot closer than before.  He’s standing right in front of him, close enough to touch, soft lips pulled into a reassuring smile.   Jensen can’t help the shiver that goes through him at the thought of feeling those lips against his own, and he pulls Misha in for a soft kiss. 

Misha smiles against his mouth before pulling back. “You’re more than welcome to try and distract me that way if you like.  In fact, I’ve been wanting to pick up where we left off last night since you got here, but it won’t work for long you know.”

Jensen coughs and shifts away from Misha, deciding now might be as good a time as any since it’s not going to get any less awkward the longer he waits.  “So, I got you something”, he starts, pulling a small, wrapped object from his pocket.  “Uh…you know…a Christmas gift?”  Misha’s smile widens and Jensen feels his stomach flip in response, finds himself wondering how on earth this man manages to affect him quite the way he does.  “Yeah, well, I saw it and I thought of you so…whatever…here you go”, and he shoves the gift clumsily towards Misha before turning to move to the other side of the room, sinking heavily onto the couch. 

Misha moves towards him, picking at the wrapping as he drops to sit cross-legged on the floor by Jensen’s feet.  “I can’t believe you did this… we said no gifts!”

Jensen’s only response is to shrug as he feels a blush colouring his cheeks like a goddamn teenager.  He hears, rather than sees, that Misha has finally removed the wrapping as the tearing sounds stop and suddenly the only sound left is that of his own breathing.  He risks a brief glance up when an abrupt laugh bursts out of Misha and sees him staring down at the box in his hands with a frown as he opens the lid and peers inside.  Shit, Jensen thinks.  He doesn’t get it.  He’s going to have to explain it to him, which is just plain embarrassing as the whole point was that it was supposed to mean something to Misha.  He takes a deep breath, which then comes flooding out of him in a shaky rush as he looks up once more and catches Misha’s expression.  There’s a look of wonder in his eyes and a tiny, trembling smile on his lips as he looks at each item. 

“You kept all these?” Misha asks, his voice shaking. 

Jensen slides off the edge of the couch and onto the floor beside Misha, taking his face between his hands and raising it until their eyes meet.  “Of course I kept them” he says.  “They remind me of you, and… of...”

“And of us” Misha finishes. 

Jensen rests their foreheads together, smiling in relief.  “Yeah.  And of us.” 

Misha surges forwards, claiming Jensen’s mouth with his, sucking at his bottom lip and running his hands up to tangle in his hair.  Jensen groans and pushes back against Misha, sliding his tongue past his lips and teeth and revelling in the taste of him.  He pushes Misha down underneath him, straddling his hips and tugging at his clothes, craving access to the smooth, warm skin beneath. 

Misha wrenches his mouth away from Jensen’s and smirks.  “For someone who likes this outfit so much, you’re pretty keen to get it off me right now.” 

Jensen rolls his eyes, secretly happy in the knowledge that he was right when he thought Misha had dressed to please him, and stills his hands.  “We can stop if you want”, he says, rolling his hips down against Misha’s, enjoying the shudder he gets in response. 

Misha looks as though he’s actually considering how to respond, so Jensen grinds his hips down again, harder this time, making the choice for him.  Rational thought flies out the window and they become a blur of limbs: legs tangling, mouths desperately seeking, hands pulling at buttons, belts and zippers until they finally feel the heat of skin against skin.  Misha reaches his hand down between them, gripping both their cocks and stroking, hand slick and sliding smoothly in their combined wetness.  Jensen groans and mouths at Misha’s jaw before sliding up to bite softly at his earlobe.  Misha’s response is to stroke faster, firmer as they rock together, gasping and desperate, the way they always are for each other.  Jensen feels himself on the edge, knows from the tremble in Misha’s thighs that he is too, and his whispered “Come on Mish.  Let go.  Come with me” sends Misha over, with a moan that goes straight to Jensen’s core and he tumbles too, both of them spilling onto each other in a heated tangle of limbs and mouths. 

Later, they go through the objects from the box together, laughing over the memories.  All of them are from trips to Rome for the JIB conventions; from their special place.  There’s the sachet of mayonnaise that Jensen confiscated at breakfast one morning, when he told Misha it was disgusting to eat mayo with breakfast, and Misha merely replied that that’s why he loved him.   There’s the coin with an image of the Coliseum on it that Misha gave Jensen to remind him of their tour where they sneaked kisses and held hands when they thought no one could see.  There’s also the receipt from the hotel bar where Jensen scribbled down all the filthy things he would do to Misha later that night, when they could finally escape the others, along with the stick figures Misha doodled underneath, adding his own suggestions, that made Jensen cough and cross his legs when Misha slyly slid it back to him across the table.  It’s all the little things that don’t mean so much on their own, but which mean everything to Jensen, because they mean Misha.


End file.
